You stood in the hallway for a second longer than necessary, knuckles hovering near the door, a familiar smile already tugging at your lips.

Todd Anderson.

God, he made this too easy.

Welton had changed—girls in the halls, laughter mixed with old stone seriousness—but Todd stayed the same. Quiet. Soft-spoken. Eyes always dropping first. And hopelessly, painfully in love with you.

You knew.

You’d known ever since Charlie and the others had accidentally on purpose found his notebook. Sketches tucked between poems. Lines rewritten over and over. And your name—your name—scattered everywhere like a confession he never meant anyone to read.

They teased him mercilessly after that.

And you? You were worse.

You told yourself it was harmless. That it was funny. That he’d survive. You teased him because it was easy, because his blush came fast and deep, because the way his breath stuttered when you leaned too close made you feel powerful. Because he was vulnerable and safe and never pushed back.

And because—if you were honest—you liked the attention.

You knocked.

There was a pause. A shuffle. Then the door opened.

Todd stood there in his dorm room, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, hair messier than usual, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He froze the second he saw you.

“Oh,” he breathed. “H-hi.”

His voice cracked just enough to make you smile wider.

“Hi, Todd,” you said lightly, stepping past him before he could even think to object. “Am I interrupting something?”

“N-no,” he lied instantly, hands fidgeting at his sides. Neil’s bed was empty. The room quiet. Safe. Too safe.

You turned slowly, eyes taking him in like you always did, deliberate and unkind in the most casual way.